


all you really need is soup

by leias_left_hair_bun



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Republic Commando Series - Karen Traviss, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Perhaps even, Really it's just fluff, anyways. ummm we could also put, been writing a lot of that lately
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 08:48:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29468964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leias_left_hair_bun/pseuds/leias_left_hair_bun
Summary: just some softness with fi making dinner for his girl (:
Relationships: Parja Bralor/RC-8015 | Fi Skirata
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10
Collections: Star Wars Valentine's Exchange 2021





	all you really need is soup

Fi knew better than to put his tongue between his teeth. Maybe his memories from his years as a cadet were a little fuzzy around the edges nowadays, but one was clear enough. He’d been splayed out on his stomach, peering at the target through his scope and preparing to nail it once again when a sudden smack to the back of his head made him bite down involuntarily.

“ _Careful_ , _lad,_ ” Sergeant Kal had said - of course it’d been him - “ _You’re asking for trouble keeping your tongue where you can bite through it._ ”

That had been sound advice when Fi was a soldier, but he wasn’t one anymore, was he? Now he was - well, he was still working on figuring that one out. And for whatever reason, it was easier to chop vegetables with his tongue out.

Reaching for another carrot, Fi curled his fingers more firmly around the satin-smooth handle of his knife, irritation sparking in him as the motion caused it to slip and turn in his hand. If only it wasn’t quite so polished, or, better yet, if it was a tactical knife; he was far more comfortable with those. He could barely handle a kitchen knife without chopping his own finger off, though, and the last time he’d tried he nearly had anyways. Grimacing, Fi rubbed his left thumb against the relatively fresh scar covering the entire side of his pointer finger. He’d been lucky Parja had been there to snatch away the knife before it could do any serious damage.

  
Speaking of his girl, he heard her in the entry now. She must have closed the shop early.

“Something smells good,” she called.

There was a questioning lilt to her tone and Fi grinned conspiratorially to himself. Two soft _thunks_ told him Parja had taken off her boots, and the louder _thunk_ would be her helmet as she tossed it onto the entry table. Fi busied himself with the carrot while he waited for her, carefully setting the edge of his knife blade on it and pushing forward and down with slow, uncomfortably shaky strokes. Now that he thought about it, it was nothing short of a miracle that he hadn’t cut himself today.

“What’s this?” Parja said as she strode into the kitchen. “Did you decide to make supper today, _cyar’ika_?”

“I did,” Fi said. “It’s just soup.”

He poked at the carrot slices; there was something else he wanted to say in explanation but the words were getting mixed up on the way to his mouth. Gently, Parja pulled the knife out of his hand and took both his hands in hers. Fi chose to ignore the way she took the opportunity to inspect his skin for cuts, focusing instead on the soft brush of her fingers.

“It smells wonderful, Fi, and I’m proud of you for making it all by yourself.”

“It’s not done yet,” Fi said.

That probably sounded ungrateful, like he wasn’t accepting the compliment, and sure enough, Parja’s forehead creased.

“That’s okay; you’ve done a lot and I can help with the rest,” she said and started to let go of Fi’s hands.

“Don’t,” Fi said and squeezed tighter. “I want to make it myself. For you.” He took a deep breath and willed himself to get the words out. “I made a hack job of the vegetables but it won’t matter when they’re boiled. I hope. I want to make something for you, even if it isn’t very nice. I can’t tell you how much I like you, not - I could have told you before and you’d have liked it. I can’t now; I can’t do much. Just this.“

Fi sighed and dropped his gaze to where Parja was still circling her thumbs over his knuckles. This was why even as his verbal abilities returned he’d been limiting himself to short sentences; every time he tried to express himself it came out slightly awry.

“What do you mean by ‘just this’? I think it’s a lot, _cyar’ika_ ,” Parja said. “I know how much work making a meal takes, and I know how much more work it must have been for you.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah,” Parja said firmly. “I’m impressed, Fi, and I’m touched, too. Are you sure you don’t want me to help?”

  
Fi rolled his eyes. “I’m sure.”

“Alright.” Pulling her hands away, Parja picked up one of the carrot slices. “This is really good, by the way. You should stop doubting yourself so much; a month ago you couldn’t cut bread without slicing yourself open, and now look at you.”

“Watch out,” Fi said. “Next month I’ll be juggling vibroblades.”

Parja laughed and smacked Fi’s arm. “Not if I’m around to say anything about it, you won’t.”

The bright sound of Parja’s laugh emboldened Fi. “Go shower and I’ll braid your hair for you? If you want.”

“I’d love that.”

So, a little while later, Fi found himself sitting with Parja kneeling between his legs, feeding him spoonfuls of soup as he dragged a comb through her damp hair.

“This’d be easier if you turned around,” he pointed out.

Parja hummed and pushed the spoon against his lips again. “But we can both eat this way.” True to her word, she took a spoonful herself and licked her lips noisily after she’d swallowed. “This tastes wonderful, _cyar’ika_. I’d no idea you knew how to cook.”

“I’ve watched you lots now.”

“You’re a quick learner.”

“I used to be.”

Frowning, Parja jabbed the spoon at him again. “Stop putting yourself down and eat your soup.”

“I made it for you.” He had a feeling he’d already asked, but - “How do I braid?”

Setting the bowl aside, Parja took a fistful of hair and divided it into three messy sections. “Put the first piece over the second, then the third over the first. Just keep pulling the pieces on the side into the middle and alternate.”

She shook her hair out again and picked up the bowl. Fi blinked. If he could defuse a bomb, he could do this, right? Except that he couldn’t defuse a bomb anymore and anyways, he realized as he started to divide Parja’s hair that it was so soft and silky that it was going to slip through his fingers instead of staying where he put it. Also, he was mortally afraid of yanking it out on accident.

“You’re not going to hurt me,” Parja said softly.

Fi huffed and tried the cross-over motion again, grimacing as the dark strands slid out of his grasp again. “I can’t hold onto it.”

“Yes, you can,” Parja said. “Grip it tighter, Fi, I promise you won’t hurt me. You’re doing a fine job already, you’ve got the idea down.”

Putting his tongue between his teeth, Fi tried again. And again. Parja waited, talking to him quietly about her day at the shop and occasionally demonstrating the braiding technique for him again. The soup bowl was long empty and Parja’s hair nearly dry before Fi finally reached the end of the second plait and let Parja secure it with her usual beads.

She ran her hands scrutinizingly over the braids, taking stock of Fi’s work with a pleased smile. Leaning forward, she planted a kiss on his cheek.

“Thank you, _cyar’ika_. They’re perfect.”

_Accept the compliment_ , Fi told himself, but of course he didn’t listen. “They’re messy.”

“You’ll get better with practice,” Parja said, unconcerned. “You’ll have lots of time to practice on me, and maybe on some _ade_ of our own, soon.”

“Soon?” Fi racked his brain. He couldn’t have forgotten something like _that._ “I know my education isn’t - isn’t full, but I thought there were certain things that had to happen first.”

For the second time that evening, Parja laughed at his words. Fi felt rather proud about that.

“Not _that_ soon. I just meant once we’re married and you’re ready for children,” Parja explained. “You’d be a good _buir_ , Fi.”

Would he? Fi thought about it, thought about a little girl with Parja’s chestnut braids and his dark eyes. A little girl who would hold his hand in the markets and play at soldier with him - really play, no live-fire or drills involved. It was a nice idea.

“Maybe,” he said. “How do I become ready?”

“You can put a meal on the table and braid hair already; I’d say that’s a good start.” Parja smiled and kissed him again. “You’ve done so much for me tonight, _cyar’ika_. Thank you.”

“I’ve gotta treat my girl right.”

Fi leaned his forehead against Parja’s; he didn’t quite trust himself to kiss her properly without hitting her nose. She let him rest like that for a moment before taking his face in her hands and making him meet her eyes as she smiled at him with so much warmth he could practically feel it.

“You always do, Fi.”

**Author's Note:**

> (note: where fi and parja are living in this one is as much as a mystery to me as anyone else but that’s okay that’s fine we’re just ignoring the fact that this doesn’t exactly match up with canon :D )


End file.
